


Faerie Whisperings

by galaxyhitchiker



Category: Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Abuse, Angst, BoyxBoy, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, One Shot, Short Fics, Slash, faerie - Freeform, faerieland, i'm trying though sorry, mention of blackthorn family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-01 05:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6501808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyhitchiker/pseuds/galaxyhitchiker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As rivers rush by and starlight seeks out every hidden miracle, he holds on tight to his fairy prince during every surging storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faerie Whisperings

**Author's Note:**

> A one-shot featuring Mark and Kieran in Faerie.

Mark watches the sky above him in contemplative silence, observing the myriad of colors fighting for dominance like a canvas of swirled paints: bloody crimson, deep scarlet, angelic yellow. Although the heavens appear beautiful, perhaps even alluring, it is thick with the heavy atmosphere of recent battle. Tension, relief, and endless, _endless_ grief twist the air like fingers grasping intently on what's not there.

He is not watching the sky.

He is choking with unfiltered emotion, breathing heavily, staring too fiercely up in the slim, impossible hopes that it might steady his unbalanced mind.

The cries of mourning fairies pierce the silence sharply, reaching his ears; an eerie, ominous sound of itself. No Shadowhunter, no mundane, no _nothing_  could scream like that. The other members of the Wild Hunt glide among the wreckage, searching for dead souls to salvage and awaken. Gwyn ap Nudd stands sturdy and silent, commanding his army with graceful gestures, a stern expression, and burning eyes- one pit of ebony, one gleaming blue; his figure positioned like a beacon to look to between the bloodied battlefield.

Admittedly, Mark's not sure he can stand it. He will be the center of attention for malicious mockery tomorrow if he runs off, deemed weak, unworthy; but he cannot bring himself to care. He lowers his painful gaze at the setting sun, and prepares to flee.

But warm, strong arms wrap around him and he can't breathe for a second- the good kind of breathlessness, the one where his heart clenches with such strong comfort and respite, the rest of his body needs time to catch up. Mark clutches back at the slim hands grasping his waist, desperately and without shame. It's so familiar and inviting the gruesome scene seems to slip away below him, underneath the steep precipice he stands upon. They look away from the deteriorating, mangled bodies piled by the tens.

Mark gasps softly as hot, slow kisses are pressed to the smooth skin of his neck down to his collarbone. His eyes flutter shut, not caring in the least bit that they are open for display to every warrior beyond them. He turns indignantly and takes Kieran's face into his hands, colliding their lips together in ruthless agony, wanting more of each other but knowing the satisfaction will never be fulfilled. The Shadowhunter takes pleasure in running his fingers over the features he has explored over and over again- the cutting cheekbones, tousled hair, and pale skin that's bruised and scarred and undeniably statuesque _._

They're both panting for air when they finally pull away, and Kieran loops his hand through Mark's before stepping away. His face is flushed, tresses even messier, and lips bruised with the rough treatment.

Mark finds it endearing, and laughs.

The fairy prince smiles, too. It brings out the joy in his eyes, almost always tucked away behind years of torment and anguish. Mark feels proud for being capable of pulling out something so recluse within his lover, and furious at the same time at the people responsible for the pain always echoed in Kieran's stare. "Do you think me amusing?"

Mark leans in closer. "I find you captivating."

He blushes in return, tilting his head away in a vain attempt to hide it. "Come. We must gather the dead before nighttime falls. It pains me to see you abused by the other hunters when you leave, so harshly."

"It matters not. I would be deceived and mocked a thousand times over for you."

"Do not speak of such things," Kieran looks at him with imploring eyes, a pleading face, before tugging gently at his arm. Mark is entranced, as always, by this rare beauty, and follows without so much as a protest. They step down to the clearing, mostly vacant of killed fairies and now littered with strewn armor and little spilled keepsakes. A rushing river flows by, the water crashing down jutting stones with aggressive power and force. In Faerie, he has learned, nature is very alive.

He dips a single hand into it, watching as water entwines around his fingers in a swirl of fluid turquoise and blue. Kieran releases their locked hands to circle the cadaver of a female fairy. Her ruby locks lay sprawled beneath her head like a halo of fire, threaded through with emerald vines and blossoms, now disintegrating as the life drains from her heart. Now torn, a once spectacular forest dress drapes the remains of her body. Neither of them particularly enjoy raising the deceased, but it is natural instinct now. It is what the Wild Hunt do.

Slowly, Kieran tenses as renewed energy flows freely through his body, filling up every space of him, dominating. He blinks once, twice- silver and inky black slipping away beneath his half-closed lids, tilting his head up slightly. With a pained motion, the fairy lifts his hands, palms up, as if pushing against an invisible force.

And unmistakably, although it shouldn't be possible, the female warrior begins to rise with the movement.

Her motions are stiff, robotic, but mobile nonetheless. When standing on her own two feet, a pause ensues before she opens her eyes. Kieran stifles a gasp.

They are stunning.

A kaleidoscope of viridescent hues, lapping over each other like deep, verdant green ocean waves. Starbursts of gold seem to combust and contract inside her pupils. Kieran revels in this unnatural beauty before she blinks, a hard blink, and it is almost as if he can _see_ the miniscule sliver of life, rejuvenated momentarily, leave just as quickly with no remorse or reluctance. It escapes in a split second.

When she opens her eyes again they are blindingly white- no iris, no pupil- just stark white. Kieran always cannot help but flinch at the appalling display of this: a fairy's eyes stripped of its beauty. But he stands his place because it is the least he can do to help this poor soul. His fingers begin to play a sporadic symphony of beats against his palm- a nervous tic. When the girl speaks, her voice grates of a musical harmony long gone, like metal scraping against layered metal. She bows down to Kieran before rising again. " _Master..."_

"Speak to me..." his voice falters as he rebounds for a second try. "Speak to me your name."

" _Rhoswhen."_ Shelacks emotion, like her own name is a stranger to her foreign lips.

Rhoswhen. _White Rose,_ Mark thinks.

When at last the words of the Wild Hunt have spilled from Kieran's lips in a reluctant recital and the new fairy is brought away, Kieran drops to the ground, kneeling heavily, exhausted mentally not so much as physically. Mark is at his side in a second, placing his lips in every comforting spot he can find, until the prince leans into him gratefully.

* * *

 

At nighttime, they lay entangled below the stars in a mess of limbs. Mark can hear Kieran's steady heartbeat, beating methodically, lulling him to sleep. The latter lays tiredly on his chest, dark blue hair mussed, blending in with the darkness of nightfall. The moon casts beautiful light atop his face, settling above the shadows and deepening hidden lines. Decidedly, Mark pulls him closer, their lips meeting in a long, slow kiss. Above them, the night sky shifts and crackles with the everchanging nature of Faerie. Stars collapse, repair themselves, and constellations bound through blackened clouds like living animals. Mark counts the cluster shining right above him, and stops at six.

Six.

 _Six for Helen, Julian, Livia, Tiberius, Drusilla, Octavian._ Oh God. He can't breathe, can't think, can't do _anything_ over the sudden, familiar agony of his aching heart.

Abruptly, he sits up, gasping for air, alarming the other boy that had been wrapped around him. It feels like a beast is trying to rip its way out of his chest, showing no mercy, clawing fiercely at his ribcage. He is drawn to his family, caught by a sharp hook, and it hurts and he wants to be pulled along with it but he is trapped and anchored here, _trapped and anchored-_

-then Kieran is touching him. Running a soothing hand across his shoulderblades, whispering nonsensical words of comfort that help anyway, kissing him softly on the cheek, neck, hands...

"Breathe," he commands, grasping Mark's face. "Breathe."

Mark is brought back to his frightening reality. He shudders, trying desperately to follow the steady rhythm of Kieran's breathing. _Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale..._

He's calm, but not okay. Wet tears drop from his crumpled face, and Mark turns away to try and hide them in the darkness. But Kieran knows him.

"You must be strong." He encloses Mark from behind, running comforting hands over his chest. Silently, he kisses his hair and wipes the water away. Mark shakes his head to try and force his thoughts out, but nothing comes. He feels weak, a liability; just a spoiled Shadowhunter boy whining of his misgivings when most of the Hunt have suffered worse than he can imagine. Kieran watches Mark's eyes, now shining with the wetness of his crying. They're beautiful: one echoes the crashing waves of an ocean, teal and cerulean foaming in an infinite spiral onto a beach. The other gleams fragments of broken copper, gold, and loose soil of the Earth. He runs a hand through Mark's soft, fair ringlets. 

Mark leans into the touch, closing his eyes tight for fear of any more escaping tears. It is silent save for the rustling wind and Kieran's quiet breathing. 

"You must be strong," Kieran repeats, but barely audibly this time. They hold on to each other as if grasping for needed safety during a powerful storm.

"I will be strong. I am a Shadowhunter."

Kieran nuzzles his neck. "You are a Shadowhunter."

Stars spins relentlessly above them like continuous fireworks. Quietly, Mark repeats it until the nighttime sounds whoosh away and everything melts to nothing except for his lover's beautiful eyes. "I am a Shadowhunter."

And Kieran smiles.

"I am a Shadowhunter." Mark holds back tears. "I am a Shadowhunter, I am a Shadowhunter, _I am a Shadowhunter..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos if you enjoyed. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos if you enjoyed. Thanks for reading!


End file.
